The Winner Takes it All
by jadey36
Summary: Robin decides it's time the gang gets into shape.


**Disclaimer: **Robin Hood belongs to Tiger Aspect and the BBC. No copyright infringement intended. All rights reserved. No monies are being made.

**Author's Note: **Written for the Going for Gold Summer Challenge (Olympics 2012) over on the Jonas Armstrong Fansite. Unbet'd, so any errors are entirely my fault.

xxx

**The Winner Takes it All **

"This is silly."

"No, Much," Robin chides, scooping up his bow, "it is not silly. While the Sheriff is away in London, and Nottingham is free from his tyranny, we need to keep ourselves fit in both body and mind. So," he says, prodding Much with his bow, "enough with trying to work out your next chess move and on with the challenge."

Robin waves an arm towards the elaborate obstacle course that Will had patiently built while the other outlaws were out making the village drops and checking on the sick in the ailing village of Clun.

After hurriedly moving his chess piece – Robin grinning because he sees that Much is about to lose to him, yet again – Much gets to his feet. Scowling, he stomps towards the various ropes, jumps and balance beams scattered about the forest clearing. Seeing Robin shoot them an 'encouraging' look, John and Allan do likewise.

Bow slung across his shoulder, Robin rubs his hands together with obvious glee. "Who's first then?" he asks.

"Me, I suppose," Much sighs.

"Might as well get the humiliation over with," Allan grins. He turns to Robin. "I was thinking. We could give these workouts an extra twist by adding a swimming race in the river Trent. I quite fancy me chances there. Swam against Michael Phelps last week and nearly beat him."

Robin gives Allan a disbelieving look. Michael Phelps is renowned as being the fastest swimmer, not only in the whole of Nottingham, but also, quite possibly, the whole of England. Even Robin, a strong swimmer since childhood, had so far failed to beat him, much to his chagrin. Robin liked to be the best at everything and thanked his lucky stars that Michael 'the fish' Phelps hadn't taken up archery as a lad.

Much groans. "Not swimming. I hate swimming."

"You hate everything that doesn't involve shovelling food down your throat," Allan grins.

"It's a good idea," Robin says, "but I heard the River Trent's pretty dry at the moment, so I doubt we could manage a paddle let alone swim."

Much puffs out a relieved breath.

"Go on then," Robin says, waving Much towards one of Will's wooden creations.

"I still don't see why Will doesn't have to do this," Much grumbles, gracelessly climbing up onto the lovingly smoothed balance beam and carefully standing, arms outstretched.

"Because," Robin explains, noticing Will poised with quill and parchment, "Will built the thing. Plus, we need someone to keep a record of our scores."

"What about Djaq?" Much asks, screwing up his face in concentration and wobbling his way along the beam. "Why doesn't she have to do this?"

"Good question," Allan says. "Why doesn't she have to do it?"

"Because," Robin says, nocking an arrow and preparing to loose it at the target board and prove, as if it needed proving, that he is the greatest archer in Nottingham, indeed, the whole of England, "Djaq is a girl and we all know that girls are not as strong or as fit as men. The contest would be an unfair one. Besides, she said she needed to collect some more medicinal herbs, and considering how many times you've hurt yourself this past week – Robin grins at Much – I think that's a far more useful thing to do."

"Robin's right," Allan says, gripping the looped rings hanging from a huge oak. "It wouldn't be fair, we'd win every time."

"I wouldn't bet on it," John says. "It seems to me that girl is more than capable of surprising us." He spits robustly into his palms and prepares to lift one of the heavier weighted tree trunks.

As if on cue, Djaq walks into the clearing.

"Blimey!" Allan exclaims, letting go of the ropes and smacking unceremoniously onto the hard-packed earth.

"Wow," Will mouths, dripping ink all over his, thus far, unblemished score sheet.

Much stares, goggle-eyed, yelps and falls off the beam. John drops the huge tree trunk onto his foot. Robin's arrow flies wide of the target board.

Djaq – resplendent in a figure-hugging, low-cut gold dress, flowers pinned in her hair, sandals on her delicate little feet – sashays towards the stunned men.

"Is that the best you can do?" she says, laughing. Unselfconsciously lifting her skirts and tucking them into the soft leather belt around her slim waist, Djaq proceeds to clear the makeshift high jump in one easy leap, grabs the rope-rings and performs a series of somersaults, finally climbing up onto the Much-less balance beam and cartwheeling along its length.

Back flipping off the end and landing gracefully, Djaq turns to the slack-jawed men. She saunters over to Will, rooted to the spot, ink dripping from his quill down his shirtfront.

"Men are so easy," she grins, snatching up the winner's trophy – a gold chalice swiped earlier that week from the Sheriff's bedchamber by the ever sneaky, light-fingered Allan-a-Dale – from its resting place by Will's feet.

Straightening up, she glances at the men in turn. "I believe I am the winner," she grins, waving the gold chalice at them.

The men silently nod.

**~ fin ~**


End file.
